


Drifting

by Vioius



Category: Sdorica (Video Games)
Genre: M/M, and a handful of other people, ayyy sailors amirite, intentionally unfinished, the greatest showman au, they swim and bleed that's about it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:00:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24978058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vioius/pseuds/Vioius
Summary: it starts with being open minded, but i was a little too late, so i'll continue to wait for you under the sea of stars.
Relationships: Charle Ceres/Morris Dietrich
Kudos: 4





	Drifting

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there! i didn't write shit this year for pride month lmao. butttttt i have this unfinished draft from last year i deemed worthy enough to release
> 
> i mean alchemy was hot garbage and i still posted that so lmao if you havent read it yet please dont 
> 
> the reason i find it increasingly hard to write for this fandom is because it's the last of my ties to my old friend (if you remember, alchemy was written for her) needless to say, we aren't friends anymore. it's in the past, and well, charle and morris both dying had me like, damn, isn't it bout time i moved on and be happy as well? 
> 
> i will forever be grateful to this ship and i present you with something that isn't shameless crackporn for once :')

_“Papa!” The little boy shrieked in pure joy as his father returned from a day of hopeless work. His father took him in his arms, swinging him around effortlessly. “Put me down! Don’t you know how old I am?”_

_The grown man took one look at the boy’s giddy grin and remembered today was his son’s 13th birthday. He was tired, but he didn’t let that show. He was also disappointed in himself for letting himself forget what day it was._

_“Of course!” He snapped, pulling out his suitcase full of gadgets and gizmos. “In fact, I have a surprise for you.” In a matter of seconds, he presented a device he made just now, out of the whim. It was like a marionnette, only that the marionnette was merely a rotating candle underneath an unused headpiece belonging to whichever one of his million works in progress._

_His son marveled at its simplistic beauty. “Well? What do you call this one?”_

_“A wishmaker. It takes all of your dearest wishes and keeps them safe until the day they come true.”_

_His son rubbed his chin, pensive like the creative little thinker he is. “And what happens when they come true?”_

_The man waved him off. “Don’t worry about that. Tell you what! How about you be the one to test that out? Go on, make a wish.”_

_His son rolled his eyes. He didn’t have to think hard about what he truly wanted. “I wish to be an engineer just like you papa!”_

_The man chuckled at his son’s purity._

_If only things worked like that._

_His mother fell ill. His father was frantic, overworking himself to make any sort of money. But it was never enough. It could never be enough to afford a cure for her while also keeping their family afloat._

_Every year the boy wished to change this dreadful fate._

_14th…_

_15th…_

_When the clock struck midnight, the boy was 16, and his mother passed away, the two of them hand in hand. He only let go to give his father some privacy with his fallen lover._

_The boy entered his room in sullen silence. He noticed a cupcake with a single lit candle on his night stand. Underneath was a handwritten note from his— mother?_

**_I may be overdoing myself, but my condition is no excuse. How could I possibly forget what today is? Happy birthday my sweet, darling angel. Mama loves you!_ **

_The boy became visibly shaken. Weary hands anxiously dug up the wishmaker. He lit its candle using his birthday candle, wishing and wishing for his mother to come back, to rise from bed, bust down his door, and hold her child tightly. He knew that it would be impossible. The device was no genie. It only keeps wishes._

_In sudden, overwhelming anger, he threw the device to the ground, breaking it. He quickly realized his mistake and stepped on the small flame to put it out._

_His father’s precious gift lay on the ground, broken. He would not ask the man to fix it. Wishes… what a fairytale._

_If only things worked like that._

_Only him, his father, and the local priest showed up to his mother’s funeral. He had no tears left to cry, so selfishly, he left early. He figured his father would enjoy the privacy. In reality he knew leaving his father alone was a terrible decision._

_The truth is, he is the one who wants to be alone right now._

_He found himself sulking by the seashore. His ragged breathing aligned with the tides. He was so consumed in his own self pity he didn’t notice someone else had been right beside him the whole time._

_It was a boy. He didn’t look old enough to be a teenager. Frankly, he looked concerned. “Mister, why are you sad?” He asked innocently._

_The older dodged the question, mindlessly asking where the boy’s parents are._

_“My father is attending a funeral, but I didn’t want to go so I escaped to the sea.” He answered straightforwardly. “What are you doing here?”_

_“I’m old enough to do what I want. You are not. Your father must be worried sick about you.”_

_“No. Not really.” The little boy shifted his gaze back to the sea, softly humming. “I love the sea, but I can’t swim.”_

_The older was confused at the sudden change of conversation, but maybe it’s for the better. “You could always learn.”_

_“Except that my father would never let me step foot into the water.”_

_That line had some sort of biting sadness the older wasn’t in the mood to decipher. He was about to hand the boy an empty solution, but the boy continued, “My life is already written by him. Like some sort of play I’m forced to lead. Honestly, I want to fold the stupid script into a sailboat and sail away forever.”_

_The older chuckled, again tried to respond, but the boy shoved another question in his face._

_“What about you? What are your dreams?”_

_“My dreams?” He lamented for a split second. It’s been a while since he’s had a dream. “I’ve got a million dreams!” He lied. But the way the younger’s eyes ignited with genuine curiosity set him straight. Perhaps this is fate. The only form of comfort the universe provided is letting it rain on a stranger._

_“I want to be an engineer just like my papa and make each and every one of them come true… before it’s too late.”_

_The boy suddenly rose to his feet. “I don’t want to be an engineer.” A few seconds later, as if on cue, a man called for him, presumably his father, and he obediently trekked his way into their personal carriage._

_The other pondered what the universe’s purpose behind this encounter was. Did the universe even spare a glance to an insignificant speck like him?_

_If only things worked like that._

_“You are coming of age, Charle.” His father said. “What do you want to be?”_

_His son glared at the ground, disheartened beyond belief. Countless nights have already been spent arguing over his career path._

_His father did not want him to be an engineer, stressing that he did not want his son to grow up a failure like himself. And every word of opposition he said fell to deaf ears._

_“A sailor.”_

* * *

“So how long are ye planning to stay in yer bunker, Ceres?” 

Charle’s eyes snapped open upon registering the familiarity of that voice to be his captain’s. “I’m up, sir!” He said, rushing to pull on his clothes and halfway brush his hair. 

All while his captain watched from the door frame, slightly amused at the mess his favorite crew member secretly was. “Our voyage has come to an end. Yer going home, Ceres. Y’old man’s been standing out there for hours waitin’ for ye.” 

Charle peeked out the window. Surely enough his father was flopped over in the summer heat like a dead fish. He dropped his comb, mouth agape. The voyage was supposed to last 6 months. Has it already been 6 months? In all honesty, he didn’t expect being a sailor to be exciting at all. He thought they’d catch fish, and that’d be the end of it. But the past 6 months have been loaded with explosive, ridiculous, unbelievably dangerous yet unforgettable adventures. 

_And on top of that_ , his captain allowed him to study the inner mechanisms of the ship. He had noticed Charle’s natural intelligence and expertise on how things work in relation with others so he allowed him to pursue his affinity towards engineering while sailing the seven seas. It proved a tactical decision; Charle turned out to be one hell of a maintenance guy.

His captain threw his bags at him, snapping Charle out of his daze. “Get off me boat, Ceres!”

_Roger that_. 

As much as Charle didn’t want to leave, he missed his father immeasurably. He nearly tackled his old man when he saw him. Despite being an adult himself, he refused to let go for a good, long minute. They shared stories about their time apart on their way home.

Except they weren’t headed home.

Their carriage stopped in front of a lavish mansion. Before Charle could question anything, his father instructed him to stay silent and stand up straight. Apparently he had a meeting with a very prominent person but he was behind schedule. He had not planned on Charle’s untimely manner.

The man who opened the door wasn’t all too delighted to see either of them, _especially_ unwelcoming towards Charle’s heavy scent of sea salt. 

His father introduced Charle, but that’s the only time he was mentioned. For the most part, he stood around, eavesdropping. He’d pieced it out that this was a business meeting. His father was still trying to sell his inventions, persuading this man to invest in him.

Charle’s eyes wandered around the house, interested in its architectural design. Everything was either white, gold, or marble, and no surface was spared from being harassed with carved rose-like patterns. And the grand staircase— good heavens it’d be like running a marathon to get up there. While moving on to judging the furniture, he caught sight of a little boy scribbling away at the glass dinner table. He squinted to see what coloring sheet he could be working on. To his pleasant surprise, they were sheets upon sheets of mathematical equations. 

Against all reason, Charle approached the boy, curiosity getting the better of him. He watched as the boy calculated, silently rooting for him and applauding whenever his solutions were correct. He would also mentally race the boy to see if he could get to a solution before him. 

_Oh man, he’s good..._

The boy was immersed in his train of thought. He paid no heed to the visitors; frankly he didn’t even notice Charle standing over him until he inhaled the heavy scent of sea salt. He looked up, somehow making direct eye contact with the stranger and nearly falling out of his chair because of it.

“You—!”

“It’s my fault! I’m so sorry.”

“You’re a sailor!” 

_Does this mean he’s not mad?_ Charle laughed awkwardly. “Yes, I am actually. How’d you guess it?”

“How could I not? I love the sea!” The boy said. But then he froze, sudden excitement dying down just as quickly as it had formed. “Ah, I need to get back to work. I’m just a little envious of you mister.”

Charle should’ve left it at that, should’ve left the boy in peace, but his curiosity spiked up again. _You could have anything you want in the world if you asked for it. What do you envy from me?_

But he had enough self control to keep that question to himself. This boy was only a child after all. He took a sheet of unused paper and folded it into a sailboat, scribbling a dumb sailor message on it before throwing it at the boy.

**_Aye aye Captain!_ **

In his defense, it sounded less dumb in his head. The boy eagerly picked it up, immediately recognizing the foreign object. His eyes gleamed like the ocean itself, despite being a crimson shade of red. 

“Thank you mister.” His grin conveyed wholehearted gratitude, and it made Charle want to make him a thousand more paper sailboats with hopefully less dumb messages scribbled on the side.

_Just to keep that precious smile afloat_.

“ **Son**.” His father called him. He, accompanied by Charle’s own father, made his way to the table to check on his son’s progress. 

“Yes father?” The boy answered obediently, quickly hiding the sailboat under his legs.

After a split second inspection, Morris’s father picked up the ruler off of the table and whipped the back of his neck in between every sentence. “Who gave you permission to speak? You’re getting distracted by guests. So you can’t handle doing your work outside of your room after all?” 

Charle’s body moved on its own accord and grabbed the ruler, gripping it so tightly that he would’ve surely broken it if he hadn’t let go. He was making an expression with all the hatred he never knew he had in him. Charle realized his position and decided to deescalate the situation, reluctantly letting go of the ruler.

“Sir, your son did nothing wrong; I approached him. It’s my fault.”

He grunted. “Is that so?” He allowed a moment of silence just to see if Charle’s eyes would waver. And when they did not, he huffed a breath of hot air before bringing his fist across Charle’s face. “Get out of my house.”

It took a lot of self control not to roll his eyes as he escorted himself out. He never wanted to be in a conceited elitist household anyways. His father didn’t follow him, still having unfinished business. The old man will seriously kill himself trying to catch a gig, but Charle wasn’t concerned about him at the moment. His mind was occupied by that child.

  
 _Dear God, keep him safe_.

* * *

“Finally, those beggars are gone,” his father yawned, tossing yet another worthless pamphlet away. He glanced at his son, who was diligently working. Something was off. 

_Perhaps he is glaring at the paper?_

“Don’t make sour expressions or else your resting face will be sour, and your mother always said: _no one will love you if you’re unattractive_.” He singsonged, pouring himself a cup of tea. He took a sip before peeking at his child. 

Somehow Morris’s poker face bothered him more than blatantly frowning. “What? Don’t tell me you felt bad for the guy?”

Morris put his pencil down to give his father his full attention. “You can’t keep treating everyone like this.” 

“You’re only saying that because he is a sailor.”

“This isn’t about him being a sailor.”

“And he reeks of the sea.”

“This is about him being a human, not a sailor, not a beggar, a _human being_.”

His father took another sip of tea before putting the cup down, uncrossing his legs, and sitting forward in his chair. “Morris, Morris, Morris. What do you wish to achieve with your argument?” His son stuttered, fuming while trying to answer. He chuckled. “Surely it isn’t the foolish little boy talking right? Because my son is no foolish little boy. He is a prodigy, and a prodigy _will_ not be wasted on the sea.” 

_Calm and collected. Calm and collected. Calm… calm? Calm…?—_

“ **I do not want to be an engineer!** ” Morris spat, trembling hands balling up his papers. He was too blindly angry to regret losing his composure. It isn’t the first time he’s stood up against his father. But today will be _the day_ something changes.

His father took a deep breath, finishing his cup of tea before laying down the final statement. “I’m sending you to boarding school.”

“ _What?_ ” 

“It’s obvious that I can’t raise you into a productive mindset so maybe they will.”

“And what if they can’t change me?”

He dabbed his mouth with a handkerchief. Perhaps it had been a bluff? He _had_ been holding back on this decision for months, and by the way his own son was glaring back at him, he was sure this decision had been inevitable. 

“Then at least they will keep you at bay.”

Morris felt trapped. “You’re the worst.” He muttered, having run out of things to say. 

“And you’re my son so what does that make you?” He held out his hand, expecting Morris to take it. 

Morris growled. He snagged the handkerchief hanging from his father’s pockets and threw it in his face, buying just enough time to safely tuck his paper sailboat safely in his own suit jacket. 

“Go to your room.” His father grunted, taking his time to reinforce every crease as he refolded his handkerchief. “I don’t want to see your face until you get that book report finished.” 

_Which one?_

In truth Morris had already finished the reports. He had torn them up and folded dozens of paper sailboats with them. Every day, as the sun sets, he would carefully stash each boat in a jar one by one so he wouldn’t dent their sails. 

But his new one would surely throw off the balance. Should he put it on his desk then? His nightstand? Perhaps his windowsill? _Under his pillow?_ With his mind occupied on where he should keep his new boat, he didn’t notice when his father had locked him into his own room. 

Morris is no damsel in distress. 

He managed to escape through his window despite it being on the second floor. The boy is a prodigy after all. He found himself sulking by sea for what would likely be the last time for a long while. 

He nearly screamed with joy when he saw the outline of that stranger’s uniform in the water. “Mister! Mister!” He shouted and waved. And when he got his attention, he blanked. “H-hi.” The stranger smiled and approached him, walking as quickly as the water would let him. “I’m sorry about earlier. I hope it doesn’t still hurt. And uhm, thanks for trying to help. I really appreciate—” 

Morris’s words left him when he looked into the stranger’s amber eyes. _The eyes of a sailor. I can’t believe it. A real life_ **_sailor_ ** _right in front of me._ If he didn’t know better, Morris would’ve squealed on the spot. Those lessons in manners and etiquette are really starting to kick in.

“Oh, it’s just a graze. Don’t worry about it.” The stranger said, snapping Morris out of his reverie. “And what about you? Did you sneak out?”

Morris chuckled, “Guilty as charged.” A remark followed by silence. He didn’t like the silence. Surely the sailor man would get back to his evening loitering if he didn’t say something quick— 

“My father is sending me to boarding school.”

_Why did I say that?_ _He should be the last person I tell_ — _but then again I don’t_ have _anyone else to talk to. Resorting to telling your life story to strangers is an incredibly foolish habit, Dietrich._

“Boarding school? What’s the catch?” The sailor asked. He sat in the sand and invited Morris to join in on the evening loitering.

In which Morris did, letting the waves hit his legs, calming his hyperactive nerves. “It’s no secret that I love the sea, but my father thinks it’s a waste of my talent so he’s sending me to boarding school.” _Look at you go, spilling the tea for him_. “He thinks it’ll change me, that it’ll make me like him—”

“I don’t think you’ll ever be like him.” The sailor interrupted, but said nothing else.

Morris cleared his throat and continued, “Yes, I don’t think so either. But I’ll be away from the sea until I finish school, and that makes me absolutely _livid_.”

The sailor thought for a bit before rising. “Then let’s go for a swim! C’mon, it’ll be fun~.” Morris lightened up, but was hesitant about the idea. “What? You already snuck out. You can’t seriously be worried about getting your clothes wet now?”

“No, no it’s not that. I just…” _Well this is embarrassing. Today’s the day I admit to a sailor that I can’t swim. He must think my water affinity is fake._ “I, uhm… _don’t laugh_ , but I can’t swim.”

The other was dumbfounded until it clicked. He chuckled. “I’m not laughing at you, I promise. You not knowing gives me the opportunity to teach you!” He grabbed Morris’s wrist and dragged him into the water, assuming he’d agree to any dumb idea. “My captain will be _so_ proud when he hears about this!” 

Morris was _terrified_ of going in ankle deep. So accordingly his soul left his body as soon as the water reached his waist. He let out a yelp and tugged back at his wrist; the stranger stopped and looked back at him, not once worrying about _oh you know,_ **_drowning_ **.

“Don’t worry, I won’t let you go!” The sailor continued to be optimistic and eager about this whole _teach an inexperienced and anxious kid how to swim_ thing until Morris couldn’t help but let his excitement diffuse into him. Somehow that statement was convincing enough.

Their first lesson: floating. 

Easy enough right? 

_God, no._

Morris listened to his instructions. He heard him. He knew what he said. _Easier said than done_.

“Calm! You have to stay calm. I won’t let you fall, okay? Remember, calm and collected.” 

Morris took a deep breath. He’s not even swimming yet, and he’s already having a panic attack. _Great first impression, Dietrich._ He closed his eyes and tried again. 

_Calm and collected._

_Collected and calm._

**_[I won’t let you fall!]_ **

“Ah! _YOU’RE DOING IT_. Open your eyes!” 

Morris blinked. He saw that he was floating. _Him._ **_Floating_ ** . All by himself as a matter of fact. All by himself! _Wait—_ The sailor had let go of his waist but stayed relatively close, ready for the worst. 

Morris was the worst. Definitely the worst. _Who sucks this bad at floating_? But now he’s flailing around, grabbing his instructor’s arms and wrapping them back around him. 

“Relax, relax. You’re fine. A natural learner. You _do_ have talent.” The sailor reassured him, easing his hands off of him this time. “See? You’re floating. How does it feel?” It was a rhetorical question honestly, floating feels like _you’re floating_ . But it was funny to see the boy _try_ to multitask.

“N-not as exciting as I had imagined…”

“Oh? Then let’s get to the exciting part!”

Their second lesson: swimming.

“T-that’s a big step, don’t you think?” 

“Not at all! I’m confident.”

“ _I’m not_.”

“You’re talented, kid.” He mumbled as he pulled Morris into deeper waters to test his newly acquired floating capabilities. “Take a deep breath; you have to go under.” 

This crossed into Morris’s panic zone. Like. _Legitimate panic zone_ . His feet didn’t touch the ground. Who knows how deep they are right now? And he only learned how to float _just now_. 

“i’m going to die… i’m going to die…” 

“You won’t, you won’t~! Remember to believe in yourself.” 

“Mister… MISTER! **_TELL ME WHAT TO DO_ **. Oh heavens i’m going to die i’m going to die…” 

The sailor laughed, not taking Morris’s panic seriously at all. “So impatient… glad to see you’re passionate about this.” His hold on Morris’s waist was firm, and he only held on tighter as he laid down the technique, clear and precisely. 

Morris abandoned trying to float by himself and clung onto the sailor’s uniform, probably wrinkling it in the process. He needed to calm down first, thankful that he wasn’t being rushed. They had all the time in the world. 

_Just me._

_and him._

_and the ocean._

_Nothing else is here._

_Nothing else… is…_

He made it about a meter before he felt the sailor’s hands slip away. There was no way he wouldn’t panic. And then he fell under. 

Firm hands pulled him back up, and he was met by that dumb smile again. 

“ **_YOU SAID YOU WOULDN’T LET ME GO_ **.” 

“I had to! You were doing it. You—”

“No, no I’m done. I quit.” 

“You can’t seriously quit after one try, right?”

“I’ve never failed. _Ever_. And this is a rude awakening.” 

“Well, trial and error is an important part of life.” 

“Just take me back ashore,” Morris said in a broken whisper. “Please.”

The sailor was about to shoot him another inspirational quote until he caught sight of those red eyes, seemingly dull now. May it be dusk approaching or he had just made a serious mistake. 

He obliged the boy’s request, dragging him back into the sand. He watched as the boy peeled off his shirt and rinsed it. 

“You know,” he clicked his tongue, tossing the boy the spare clothing he had brought for himself. “It’s not my uniform like you had probably preferred it to be, but it’s better than sneaking in drenched. Wet footprints on your lavish marble floor would be such a chore to clean.”

Morris cracked a smile, gratefully pulling the white t-shirt over himself. He decided to play around with the snide remarks about his family’s wealth. After all, he didn’t want to go home just yet. “I’ll have you know that I’m efficient with my heists. I can get in from my window, on the _second_ floor.”

“Efficient? Wouldn’t the maids have to clean your room then? Either way, you’d be caught.”

“We don’t have maids.”

“Right, right. _Butlers_. You boys and your masculinity.”

“No butlers either,” Morris said, scribbling something in the sand. “My father doesn’t want me distracted by company.” 

The sailor leaned over to read his writing, _probably some rocket science_. “What does that say?”

Morris finished the word, and glanced up at the other, finding his sudden focus amusing. He swiftly brushed his sand covered finger across the sailor’s face, laughing, “ _Foolish_ , in Mandarin.” Wholly out of respect, he went back and brushed it away. “Only fools assume.” 

The sailor looked at the symbol in awe, and then blew a gust of cold air into the boy’s face, taking him by surprise. “Ok, mister multilingual mastermind, I get it. But isn’t it human nature to assume?” He took the boy, who had fallen back, by the wrist and pulled him upright. 

“I suppose so.” If he weren’t a sailor, Morris would be seriously mad. But his inner fanboy had him obediently brushing the sand off his back and grinning wider than his manners and etiquette lessons would ever allow.

“And besides? Isn’t it more foolish to trust strangers?”

_Oh… that’s right. We_ are _strangers._

The sailor plopped down by his side and continued, “Well that makes the both of us then, two young and dumb individuals.” They both stayed silent, one intently watching the sunset, the other scribbling into the sand a message of his own. “This is for you.”

“I’m multi _lingual_ , mister, I haven’t looked into pictographs yet, unfortunately.”

“You just _love_ to flaunt your talent huh?” He laughed, proceeding to explain his sand art. “It’s you.”

“Standing on the edge of glory? And without my legs, at that. I don’t get it.”

“ _What_? It’s clearly a boat.”

“Half a boat. And without the sail. How was I supposed to know?”

“Jokes on you for _assuming_.”

“That’s—”

“I made it ambiguous on purpose,” the sailor interrupted, fervently explaining, “See here, this isn’t just my simpleton cave drawing. It _could_ be a cliff. You’re on top of the world. You have talent, you have money, and you have looks, _my what a handsome young man you are_ —”

“ _As you were saying?_ ”

The sailor snickered, glad to see the boy was listening. This was something he wanted him to remember. Their third lesson: life. “Or it could _also_ be the edge of glory, like you were saying. Although you have the world, you still find yourself at the edge. But I see it as a sailboat. I see you fulfilling your dream, _sailing away forever_.” He laughed until his gut hurt, quite proud of his impersonation of the boy, and it didn’t help that the boy had elbowed him. 

“Like swimming, it’s easier said than done.” Again, out of sheer respect for the sailor, Morris patted the spot he hit. He stopped, getting sidetracked by the sun disappearing in the horizon. In a matter of seconds, it was dusk. 

But when the sailor made him face him, made him look him in the eyes, those bright, lively amber eyes, it was like the sun never set at all. “If you don’t remember me, you’ll at least remember my words,” he said, “I like to think that our dreams are messages from the universe, our destinies. And the most foolish decision is letting our fears pull us away. Never walk away from what you truly love.” 

_Is this about me quitting so easily earlier?_ Morris pondered for half a second before the stranger got to his feet and made for the mainland and home, probably. He followed blindly, mostly because it was dark, and _because he’s. a. sailor!_

When he wasn’t turning back, Morris quickened his pace, shorter legs struggling to run in the sand. _Is he seriously ignoring me?_

“Wait, mister, please wait!” 

* * *

Charle had no business here, and sitting on the steps of this blasted mansion worsened his mood. He wanted to go home and go back to sleep, but their carriage had already left and had thrown their bags out at the foot of the stairs. 

_Of course. They have no respect for the commoners._

Charle glanced at the ocean in the near distance. Now he _could_ be a good, obedient child and wait patiently for his dearest father, _or_ come running to the ocean.

Ocean it is.

Charle hauled his luggage all the way to the seaside, not wanting to burden his father with them. And also he didn’t want him to think he got kidnapped by abruptly disappearing and leaving his belongings.

He spent a while just loitering in the sand before he proceeded to loiter in the water. It was relaxing. It made him forget about the life he’s coming back into until next sailing season. Those 6 months were the best 6 months of his life. 

But being with his dearest father could be exciting too, right?

_Maybe he will let me be his understudy now that I’m older._

_Aghh forget it, Ceres. Right now, just focus on yourself._

_Me, myself, and—_

A familiar voice called to him. That wasn’t his father’s voice, no, it was that rich, smart kid trying to get his attention. 

_Well I do suppose it’s better than sneaking up on me in the water_.

Charle figured he was here to apologize. It’s whatever. He’s used to condescending rich folks and their superiority complex over people like him. _But it’s nice to know the boy still has some humanity in him_.

_Oh, what's that? Boarding school? There goes his humanity. Well… what was I hoping for?_ **_He will fall in line just like the rest of them._ **

“It’s no secret that I love the sea, but my father thinks it’s a waste of my talent so he’s sending me to boarding school.” The kid said, pouty. 

_Cute. No matter the talent, he’s still a kid after all. It makes me wonder if he resents his privileges…_

“He thinks it’ll change me, that it’ll make me like him—” 

“I don’t think you’ll ever be like him.” Charle said. Not out of the trust he had in this kid, but out of pity. The kid doesn’t seem to like his father, nor boarding school. Charle didn’t despise the kid; after all, he hasn’t done anything wrong. 

“Yes, I don’t think so either. But I’ll be away from the sea until I finish school, and that makes me absolutely _livid_.”

_Oh? So this whole sneaking-out-of-your-house-to-talk-to-strangers thing is all because you love the water, right?_ **_And you wouldn’t have even acknowledged me if I weren’t a sailor? Is that it? Well, that’s a shame._ ** _But until you’ve crossed me, I guess I can play along._

Charle offered the kid to go for a swim, an impulsive idea, in all honesty, but the kid doesn’t know how to swim.

**_Good. Then maybe you’ll drown._ **

_…_

_Huh?_

  
  


Charle brushed his thoughts off. He himself has been down in the dumps after encountering this kid’s father. He offered to teach him how to swim, getting excited by his own idea. And it’s not like the kid agreed (honestly Charle wasn’t waiting for an answer), but he didn’t disagree either.

Charle was having fun watching him **_struggle_ ** _… try his hardest._ He made sure to develop reassurance and encouragement, making sure to keep him close. It was basically his father’s technique to teach Charle when he said he wanted to be a sailor. 

  
  


Lesson one: floating - success!

Lesson two: swimming - less successful.

_And now the kid’s giving up. That’s… a bit too early to raise the white flag, but it’s best not to crush his spirits about the water._

Charle sat around trying to cheer him up after that, jeering at his wealth, half-teasing, half _meaning every word I said_. Again the kid surprised him, taking no offense and even playing along with his charade. He had the nerve to tell him not to assume.

_Perhaps this kid is more out of line than I thought. He loves the sea that much, huh? He seems to lack the right priorities… and human interaction. Because who in their right mind would talk to strangers?_

_…_

**_Perhaps a little manipulation wouldn’t hurt. Call it_** _—_ _inspiration_ **.**

_Inspire him, Ceres._

**_Because unlike you, he can afford to have dreams._ **

Charle drew him a picture in the sand and explained it, praising himself for sounding a little cool ( _my captain would’ve been so proud just now_ ). It was a parting gift for the kid. His thoughts were currently mangled. It’s his biting prejudice towards the elitists that makes him feel this way. Top it off with this kid’s father, and it’s _burning_ hatred.

He needed to leave. This kid doesn’t deserve to be hated, _yet_ at least. He hasn’t crossed him. Charle abruptly left as soon as he was done explaining. There’s nothing left to say. They’re still strangers after all, and with Charle’s current state of mind, it’s better if they stayed that way. But the kid refused to call it a day.

_It’s best if you didn’t follow me so closely, seriously. Go home already. It’s dusk._

**_But he’s a child, an elitist’s child. What if he gets kidnapped? Will you take responsibility? Ah, but you have no business escorting someone like him. You’re no servant. It’s his fault for sneaking out. To think he doesn’t have his own personal carriage waiting for him—_ **

_Enough, Ceres!_

Charle stopped, snapping out of his thoughts at the sound of someone falling. _It’s him. Who else would it be?_ Charle sighed. He’ll take responsibility for this one. Just once. “Are you okay?” He asked unenthusiastically.

_C’mon Ceres now you’re just being cruel._

“A-ah, I’m okay. It’s just a scratch.”

“A scratch? Kid, you’re bleeding on both knees.”

“Bleeding?” For a split second, Charle caught sight of the kid’s eyes. They gave away that expression of panic he wore during their swimming lessons. But the kid insisted, “I’ll be fine, I just—”

“You just were a little reckless? Yeah, I know. Come here.” Charle went to get his bags. Surely he had a first aid kit or a shirt to clean up the blood. Charle absolutely _hated_ the sight of blood. “I’ll get you patched up. Do you want me to walk you home too or would that ruin your heist?”

The kid stopped responding.

“Hey? Earth to little mastermind,” Charle couldn’t find that first-aid kit. Frankly he was quite concerned. Why is he being so quiet back there? It’s unsettling to look at blood, but silence was all the more unsettling. “If you’re not okay, you can just admit it.” 

Charle took another random shirt— no time for first-aid kits— and tore it up. He did this often during his voyage; works just like a bandaid! He tried getting him to sit down, you know _make my job a little easier please?_ But the kid slapped his hand away, refusing to comply. 

_I swear to God…_

“No, I’m fine, really—”

“ _Fine?_ Blood is _pouring_ from your little _scratch_. There’s no way you’re—”

“ **I said I’m fine!** ” He raised his voice, actively refusing Charle’s help. “I’m not weak.”

_Are you serious—_ If it weren’t for having a conscience, Charle would’ve screwed taking responsibility and left since the kid keeps treating this like a false alarm. Charle’s getting quite _frustrated_ . “I never said— _this has nothing to do with being weak!_ You’re clearly not fine. Just let me help!”

“I don’t need your help! I-I can go home by myself too.” The kid said. He started staggering after taking a few straight steps. 

Tensing his knees to walk in a line backfired on him, and he fell to the ground, deepening his cuts. 

_Oh great, now he’s crying_. “I don’t know what you’re trying to prove by being so stubborn—” Well now that he’s sitting down, Charle can finally get to work. 

“I’m not being… stubborn…” The kid still resisted. He was swaying now. _Swaying_. Was it that serious? Has he lost so much blood already? 

“You couldn’t even _float_ without me.” Charle muttered. Quarreling with a kid is like talking to a brick wall, but this kid is a smart one, so _why_ _in the world_ is he being so damn difficult? “What? Do you not want a commoner’s help? What makes this any different?”

“I didn’t _ask_ for your help! I didn’t _ask_ for you to take me in the water either.” The kid fumed, yet his cheeks weren’t flushed. In fact, he was deathly pale. 

“Oh, now that’s just some bullshit! You’re only saying that because you failed, and for some reason you think failure is a sign of weakness. Quite frankly, you need to get off your high horse about it. Being an elitist doesn’t mean you’re invincible.”

_Did I hit home? He’s not resisting me anymore._

“I can tell you don’t like people like me.”

“ _Am I that obvious?_ ”

“Aren’t you being too kind?”

“Trust me, a **lot** of things have been going through my head about you and they weren’t exactly _kind_ ,” Charle said. He applied pressure on the kid’s wounds, unconcerned if the kid was comfortable with his technique. “But this isn’t about demographics. As much as I despise elitists, I have humanity in me.”

“Even when we met? Did you despise me without even knowing me?”

“I don’t remember.” Charle dodged the question. He was admiring the architecture ( _What? Can’t a man still appreciate art and design?_ ). But he didn’t remember feeling anything towards the kid in particular… 

_Curiosity! I felt curiosity._

“Don’t assume, mister.” The kid chuckled, voice strained.

“Yeah, yeah,” Charle did appreciate the kid trying to reconcile with him, but there’s a _lot_ of blood on the ground right now. “Do you usually bleed this much? Good heavens…”

“I can’t… tell you that,” he answered, swaying so much that Charle grabbed him by his dumb elitist raven hair and shoved him into his shoulder. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Charle wasn’t looking for distractions. His shirt was _drenched_ in blood, and it was not stopping. “Get on my back. I’m taking you home.” 

Charle will carry this kid like a wet towel if he has to. Now’s not the time for banter. Surprisingly the kid obliged. Charle helped him stand up, but the kid wouldn’t get behind him. Instead he threw his arms around his neck and used the last of his strength to jump on Charle, bridal style. 

_Do you not know what a piggy-back ride is?_

Charle’s arms weren’t that strong; he wasn’t sure if they’d be able to make it before he himself collapses, but then again, breaking his back isn’t exactly ideal either. 

“Sorry, if it were any other way, I don’t think I could keep my legs wrapped around you.” 

“Understandable.” Charle took off, nearly sprinting. “Which way are we going?”

Morris hesitantly pointed left. “Wait, what about your bags?”

“Don’t act like you care,” Charle groaned, “Your life comes first.” Charle recognized this path; they were getting closer. “Hey, are you still with me? We’re almost there.”

“I’m still here.” The kid mumbled. “Take another left.”

“But your house is right up ahead?”

“I know. But my private doctor’s is on the left. I don’t want my father to see you. He might misunderstand.” The kid straightened himself, as if easing himself down to walk there himself. “Actually, it’d be better if no one knew. These people are narrow-minded—”

“They _assume_?” Charle cracked a small smile. 

“Yes.” He staggered but regained some control over his pathing. “You’ve done enough for me today, mister. I don’t want to cause you any more trouble.”

“If it weren’t me, it would’ve been someone else. Don’t pity me.”

“Don’t confuse pity for gratitude.”

Charle outright laughed at the witty remark. “Alright, alright. I appreciate it. But I’m not leaving until I _see_ that you’ll be safe.”

“Can I ask you something?” 

“Now’s really not the right time, but— sure, yes. What is it?”

“Why would you care if I die?”

_Well that came out of nowhere_. “You can’t accomplish your dreams when you’re dead now can you?” Charle replied. He realized something. The kid only came running after him because he didn’t completely understand his message earlier. If only he hadn’t been so prejudiced. 

“So that’s why,” he undid his uniform’s handkerchief and sloppily tied it around the kid. “You absolutely have to live. Now _go_.”

The kid sniffed and hugged him. Well it was more like deadweight, but it was _supposed_ to be a hug. “We will meet again.” 

Charle awkwardly held onto him. “Yeah,” he couldn’t help but finally give the little trooper a genuine, albeit slight, smile. “But you have to hurry now. I’m serious.”

The kid grinned, light returning to his eyes. “My name is M—”

  
“ **Young master?** ”

* * *

Morris knew that voice and frantically pushed the other away. “Leave. You can’t let them see you.”

“Young master, is that you?”

He made sure the sailor disappeared into the woods before responding. “Yes. I’m here.” It was one of the doctor’s maids. _Thank God_. “I’m bleeding.” He completely ignored her trivial questions. They’ve already wasted enough time. “Carry me over the doctor’s house. If you cannot, then call the carriage. Hurry up.”

The woman’s eyes widened as her own panic kicked in. Despite being somewhat patched up, Morris’s blood continued to stream from the cloth. Morris himself could barely keep his eyes open. 

_“Crimson Roses!”_

That was the code word for his condition. Nobody outside of his own family and a few loyal to the family knew the details of his illness, but their servants understood the seriousness and secrecy of it. The family doctor heard her shrill cry from his office. He peeked out the window. Surely enough, the frail child had caused trouble for himself yet again. He shuffled around for his emergency kit and leisurely made his way outside. “Tell my child to stay in his room. Do not allow him to leave. If he inquires about the situation, just tell him I’m busy with the sick boy.”

Morris was still conscious. The questions rapidfired at him became a buzz of white noise. He barely recognized a familiar figure taking his damn time before he tapped out.

* * *

“He’s still asleep in the guest room. He’s fine.” 

Morris blinked a couple times. He’s alive and well. 

“Look Dietrich, his illness is just as much an investment to me as he himself is to you. Of course I wouldn’t let him die. But you, seriously, you need to keep him under better surveillance. You have a borderline suicidal kid.” 

_You just can’t help giving me more and more reasons to_ be _borderline suicidal._ Morris closed his eyes and continued to eavesdrop. 

“Boarding school? How convenient. I happen to be sending Aosta to the same academy.” His father didn’t sound too swell about the doctor’s plans. “Don’t be ridiculous. Can’t I be allowed to provide the best education for my own child? Relax. They don’t even know each other. Morris’s information will be disclosed.”

_Aosta Clovis? But he’s so young._

“Although, wouldn’t it be better if he knew? I can’t be there to help Morris if he hurts himself. As much as you pay me, I have other business to tend to here.” The doctor continued to prod. “Don’t offend me like that, Dietrich, my child is beyond simpleton brilliance. He can be trusted with keeping your little troublemaker alive.”

He scoffed. “What? You think my child will bend to that sick boy? Don’t make me laugh. I’ve raised a medical mastermind; age is of the least importance.” 

_Okay assholes._ Morris concentrated on keeping a neutral sleeping expression.

“Consider this. The secret of the weak link shouldn’t leave our families. If you spread the word to the academy who knows what could become of you. Those nurses may be elite, but is that all it takes to gain your trust? At least you know I’d punish Aosta if he were to slip up.”

It was silent. Perhaps the man on the other side was pondering— or not. He hung up without an answer. The doctor took off his glasses and pinched his nose. The things he’d do for a paycheck. 

“Ah, young master, how peacefully you sleep.” He sighed, pulling the blanket back up. “You’re very important to the financial stability of my family, did you know that? Aosta will be thrilled to hear the news; he’s always wanted to meet the sick boy. Curing your illness has become a goal to him, hah. So don’t you go dying on us. You’re enough trouble as it is; the least you could do is make our lives easier.” He wished him a good night, locking and closing the door behind him. 

Morris reopened his eyes. 

_I hate every last one of you._

**Author's Note:**

> perhaps this is an inadequate parting gift... but i can't bring myself to finish it. i'm sorry. nothing really happened, i know xd i think around the time i was writing this, i was also 14 days behind on Because the Universe Said We'd Be Better Together, had to stay committed to one >.>
> 
> ayyy but if anyone wants to write a continuation where they're grown and happy with all a million dreams accomplished, i'll love ya forever~ my discord is smol#4900
> 
> as always, thanks for putting up with my bullshit and goodbye friends! :')


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